


Boys Like Us

by InkSilver, UnusuallyZealousBurgette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backround ginsy, Backround romione, Drarry, EWE, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fourth Year, Horcrux Hunting, M/M, Oblivious Harry, Slow Burn, WIP, draco redemption, sixth year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-12-17 03:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkSilver/pseuds/InkSilver, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnusuallyZealousBurgette/pseuds/UnusuallyZealousBurgette
Summary: When the Deatheaters snuck into Hogwarts, Draco got left behind. The Golden Trio decide to utilize his knowledge of Voldemort's plans and drag him along on their year-long hunt. Unfortunately, not everything goes as planned.





	1. There For The Fall

_Harry's POV_

When my feet hit the ground I feel a strong urge to puke; I’ve always disliked the feeling of apparition, especially over long distances. Closing my eyes to fight the compulsion I can still see the Inferi creeping towards me and smell the salty sea air, but when I open them it’s just us, me and Dumbledore, under the starry sky. 

Dumbledore’s weight is leaning heavily on my shoulder. The man’s usually solemn, stoic face is contorted into a pained expression.

I throw an arm around him, “Sir? Are you alright?”

Dumbledore coughs into his hand and shakes his head, “Harry, m’boy, that potion took a lot out of me.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get help here. Soon.”

“No,” He says fervently, “Severus- I need Severus and only Severus.”

 _He’s delirious_ , I think. Still, I nod and respond, “We’ll find a way to get back into the castle soon,” but Dumbledore looses balance and slumps onto the ground.

I look around panickedly, unable to lift him back up, “Is anyone here! We need help!”

The streets of Hogsmeade are entirely empty, there’s not a soul to be seen. There are only blacked-out buildings, bathed in an ominous green light.

“Sir-”

Just then, Madame Rosmerta runs out of The Three Broomsticks, her curly hair in disarray, “Albus! I just saw you appear, what’s happened to you?”

“Rosmerta,” Dumbledore shakily lifts himself up, “What’s happened _here_? Where is everyone?”

The woman shakes her head stately, “All of Hogsmeade had been in a frenzy because _that_ ,” she raise a hand to the sky, “Had appeared next to the moon. Then, everything went quiet. Everyone hid or disappeared.”

Above my head, breaking through the haze of the clouds, is an electric green, slithering snake. The light of it is blazen and it’s edges fade into the dark of the night sky.

“How long ago was this?” Dumbledore asks.

“I can’t be sure, maybe ten minutes ago?”

“Sir,” I interject, whispering hoarsely, “That’s the mark. It’s _his_ mark. The deatheaters, they must be here.”

“Yes it is, Harry. Rosmerta we need transport back to the castle.”

I bite lip, worried. _Is everyone okay? What’s happened to Ron? Hermione? Ginny?_

“I have a couple of brooms in the back, but I’m not sure where…”

I raise my wand then, “Accio Rosmerta’s brooms!”

The brooms fly over and I grab one hurriedly, handing the other one to Dumbledore who seems, altogether, stronger than he did before.

“Rosmerta, call the Ministry. They need to be alerted. Harry, put on your cloak.”

I pull the Invisibility cloak over by body and mount the broom. Looking to my side, I half-expect Dumbledore to be falling over again, but he’s steady, eyes determined.

As we kick off I can see Madame Rosmerta staring after us, an odd expression painting her face. Maybe it’s just the light, but I notice it all the same.

As we fly towards the castle, the green beams nearly blinding in the dark night, I think of everyone back at the Hogwarts. Is this a result of us leaving the castle? Do the deatheaters know that we’ve found a horcrux? Are they torturing my friends at this very moment?

I shouldn’t have told Ron and Hermione and Ginny about this, I shouldn’t have given them any information. This should be my burden to carry and mine alone. I don’t want them to get hurt. Any of them.

We get close enough to the castle that I can see the balcony of the Astronomy tower. I turn to make certain that Dumbledore is still beside me and hear him mumbling unintelligible words under his breath. As we get even closer, I see that it was a spell; _Dumbledore’s broken through the school’s wards._

I shiver as we pass through what once was Hogwart’s barrier.

Dumbledore lands his broom inside of the Astronomy Tower and I follow in suit. The Dark Mark is hanging directly over the Astronomy Tower but the room is empty. They must be here somewhere. They _must_ be.

“Sir, I’ll go get Madame Pomfrey and call for help.” I offer, already on the balls of my feet.

“No. Severus. Go get Severus, and only Severus.”

I wipe my brow, confused, “But Professor, you need help-”

Dumbledore lays a cold hand on my shoulder, “Harry, you promised to obey me. Will you deny me now?”

I swallow apprehensively, “No, but-”

“No buts, Harry. Go.”

I don’t understand, but I have to obey. _Don’t I?_ I run down the stairs leading to the door. I have to find Snape.

I make it down the two flights, then I can hear clattering foosteps behind the door. I draw my wand, ready to attack, and turn back to warn Dumbledore, when the words die on my tongue and my body goes rigid. _He didn’t. He wouldnt._

The door flies open and, from it, emerges Draco Malfoy, high nose, snooty voice and all.

“Expelliarmus!”

From where my head is turned I can see Dumbledore’s wand fly from his hand. 

_He did. He immobilized me. His last line of defense, and he immobilized me._

Malfoy walks leisurely up the stairs. The bottoms of his robes are dusty and his legs are shaking.

_Doesn’t he know that Dumbledore can perform wandless magic? Why isn’t he?_

“Draco.” The greying man greets.

Malfoy sneers, keeping his wand steadily raised towards him, “Professor. Funny how this all turns out, isn’t it?”

“What ever do you mean?”

  
Malfoy inches closer, “You’ve been trying to stop this movement all year, and here it takes only moments for me to have you at my will.“ 

“So you do.” Dumbledore raises his palms as if to demonstrate his willfullness. The wind blows starkly between them and the wood creaks under the combined weight. 

“I’ve been planning this, you know. Right under your nose.”

“Oh of course I knew, Draco. Though, I must admit, most of your attempts to kill me did seem very foolhardy.” Dumbledore states this as a fact, plain as day. _How can it be?_

Kill him. That’s what Malfoy’s been planning? To _kill_ Dumbledore? I knew there was something, but Merlin. This? _It can’t be_

Malfoy scoffs in response, “Like you would know.”

“In fact I do. The poison? It could’ve ended up with anyone. In fact, I believe it was Mr. Weasley who consumed it.

“The necklace, however,” Dumbledore continues, “I can’t imagine how you managed to pull that one off.” 

_Of course he knows._

“Think on it.”

Dumbledore’s shoulders slump visibly, “Rosmerta- you confunded her?”

“It wasn’t a confundus charm.”

It hurts too much. To have my wand in my hand and be able to do nothing. _Absolutely nothing._

“Draco, I expected more from you.”

“What do you mean?” His voice sounds a little higher with this, “How can you expect more! I’ve been planning to kill you!”

“Ah, yes, but that wasn’t your plan, was it? You’re not in this alone.”

Malfoy seems to take steam in that statement, “Of course not. There’s a whole lot of _them_ downstair, fighting off your guards.”

“And however did you get so many people into the castle?”

_Stalling. He’s stalling. What in the world is he stalling?_

“A vanishing cabinet, in the Room Of Requirement. It has a sister, in Borgin and Burkes. I’ve been… mending it.”

“Very clever, Draco.”

Malfoy’s nose rises impossibly higher, but his expression seems all too forced. He’s cracking.

“It was. Obviously more clever than any of your Order has been in your protection. Or you as matter of fact. If anyone was privy to this information, as you prolude, they’ve done nothing.”

“As it happens Severus has been assisting me.”

Malfoy laughs, cold and harsh, “He’s not working for you. He’s a spy. He’s working for the Dark Lord.”

“Do not speak of that man as if he is your master.”

“I have my wand pointed at your chest and you’re trying to convince me to switch loyalties? My loyalty is to Voldemort!”

“That isn’t true and we both know it. You aren’t going to kill me and you certainly aren’t loyal to that man.”

“Oh but I will,“ Malfoy’s grip on his wand tightens.“I will kill you,” he insists.

“Then do it. You’re a smart boy, Draco. You know I cannot defend myself. Why don’t you.”

Malfoy’s hand quivers, “I will do it.”

“Words. And empty ones at that. Please, Draco, you’ve committed no serious crimes so far. You’re still young. You can be _saved._ ”

“I don’t need to be saved! I _have_ to do this!”

“Or else what? He’ll kill you?”

“And my Mother! And my Father! You think you understand this but you don’t! I can’t be saved!”

“But you can, Draco. The order will protect you, and your family if need necessary. Please, just let us help.”

Dumbledore takes a step towards the shaking boy.

“ _Let yourself be saved_.”

It’s almost looks like Malfoy is about to drop his wand, his arm lowering and the wand to the floor, when the door bursts open again and a horde of deatheaters come through.

“Draco!” someone hisses, “Have you done the deed yet?”

My skin itches and I strongly desire to throw a curse. I focus my mind on breaking free off this spell, but to no avail. My blood boils just _hearing_ her voice again. The last time I heard that grating tone I was standing over her. _I_ had the advantage. 

_I should have done her in then._

Malfoy’s composure stiffens and his arm rises again, but he says nothing.

Three more deatheaters walk in behind Lestrange and climb the stairs. I can not see them properly until they reach the top floor.

One of them I recognize as Greyback, the werewolf, but the other two I do not know.

“Bellatrix,” Dumbledore nods, “You’ve come through as well?”

“Of course I have, old man. It’s almost sad to see you so defenseless,” She simpers, walking behind Malfoy and heckling into his ear with that wheezing voice of her’s. 

“Do it, Draco. Kill him!”

Malfoy’s wand wobbles unsteadily in his hand, but still, _nothing._

“I told you he wouldn’t do it!” One of the miscellaneous deatheaters shouts, “The Dark Lord shouldn’t have entrusted him or any of the Malfoys! They’re all cowards!”

Malfoy’s eyes look glossy.

“The Dark Lord entrusted him for a reason!”

“He’s wasting our time! The Order could be in any minute!” Fenir growls. 

The Astronomy Tower door opens a last time and, in a billow of dark green robes, Snape climbs the stairs.

“Draco will go through with the task-”

_No._

“-and he will do it now. The Order is in their way.”

“He hasn’t got the guts, Severus.”

Dumbledore’s beginning to look incredibly pale and weak again. He holds himself up with a hand on the wall near the balcony’s edge, back where I can’t see.

For a moment I thought, maybe, just maybe, Snape could have done _something._ Anything. 

“Severus,” Dumbledore whispers, “Please.”

_No._

“Imperio.”

Malfoy’s arm sets ironclad, his face wash of emotion, and eyes steely. He takes two robotic steps forwards and peels his lips back. “Avada Kedavra!”

_No!_

Suddenly, I can move again, but I can’t will myself to. The space where my heart is supposed to be feels like a black hole; empty and all-consuming. In my head I can hear the last words he ever spoke to me. 

“ _Harry. Go.”_

  
_No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. No one else was supposed to die. No one was supposed to get hurt!_

I can’t breath. Why can’t I breath?

Malfoy falls to the ground with a cry as Snape releases him from the curse. His eyes look haunted and empty all the same.

“We must go now, before the Order arrives!” Snape bellows.

I snap out of trance. _I’m not immobilized any longer._

_Harry. Go._

“You bastard!” The cry escapes my lips as I bound up the stairs.

Bellatrix pulls Malfoy by his collar, but he remains on the floor, “Draco, up! Now!” 

“He trusted you! He asked for you! And you betrayed him!”

I pull back my wand and scream the first spell that comes to mind, “Sectumsempra!”

Snape parries the attack easily and throws me backwards with a deflection spell.

“How dare you use my own spell agaisnt me,“ He sneers ominously.

Bellatrix runs behind the Professor and grabs his arm, “Now Severus!”

“Cruc-”

As I scramble to my feet they disapparate in a whirl of wind.

“-io!“ I curse, “Come back! Come back and fight you bloody bastard!”

As I shoot curse after curse part of the ceiling breaks and a pile of wood chips fall at my feet. My screams reverberate off the walls and into the night.

“Where did they go! Where are _they_!” I grab Malfoy’s collar and pull him to eye level. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even speak. He just stares with his unblinkingly blank eyes. They threaten to swallow me up.

“Answer me, dammit! Where are they! You- you _killed_ him! Just fucking _answer me_!” Boiling tears trail down my face as I let my anger consume me and slap Malfoy across the face.

The door to the astronomy tower opens with a bang.

“Harry?”

“Hermione!”

Several pairs of feet dart up the stairs. Ron and Hermione are windswept and dirty. 

“Harry-” Hermione’s eye widen at the sight of me. She takes me unto her arms and I sob into her shoulder, a soothing hand rubbing circles into my back.

“Dumbledore- he’s- he’s-”

“Harry, we know.” Ron says from the top stair. 

Hermione pulls back and looks me in the eye. Her brows are furrowed and her face red. 

“Professor Dumbledore’s body was found.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know this is kind of a restatement of the canon chapter, but there are some differences that make this pretty important for how I'm developing this fic. I hope you liked it anyway! Like in this chapter, throughout this fic I'm going to be using stuff from the books and the movies for canon info.
> 
> Please leave any suggestions or constructive criticisms in the comment section and I'll make sure to get back to you ;)


	2. The Aftermath

_Harry's POV_

I frantically push my way through the ever-growing crowd. It seems like the whole school has gathered under the Astronomy tower. The eyes of solemn upperclassmen and confused first years dart past gaps in the crowd, all looking for the same thing; what they saw from through the grand, stone arch on the opposite end of the field or from the height of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tower. The pale, mangled body of their beloved headmaster.

He looks so that no one would even think that the spell had done him in, that he'd fallen from this building without an ounce of fear or life left in him, that the blood spilling from his cracked skull is no longer warm. Dumbledore’s limbs are twisted inhumanely under the side of his body, but his head is turned up to the stars, eyes open.

My legs run numb and the hard ground hits my knobby knees.

“I'm sorry, Professor. This was never supposed to happen.” My throat feel dry from pulling out those empty words. I reach out and place a hand over Dumbledore’s heart, willing it to beat again. The tears on my cheek are burning hot, a stark contrast from the icy wind that blows through my hair.

“Potter,” Mcgonagall squeezes my shoulder. I turn my head to see her slumped posture, her clenched jaw and fragile expression. The D.A. stands on the edge of the crowd, their wands spitting white sparks into the sky.

My hand searches Dumbledore’s neckline surreptitiously as I fix myself to stand, then slipping a chain into the pocket of my robes, and pull out my wand, raising it to the moon in consequence. The magic of a thousand wands light up the sky, the stark white chasing away the fading green, as another star joins the constellations.  
_____________________________________________________

It's been hours. The black sky’s dwindled to a dawn’s bittersweet blue and dew has begun to collect on the grass underneath us. Hermione’s swath of curls hides Ron’s shoulder almost completely, you'd think she was levitating off the ground in her sleep.

Dumbledore’s body is gone, long since removed, but we've stayed -I couldn't bear to leave.

I rise unsteadily to my feet and my vision clouds over for a moment. _They'll find me later_ , I assure myself as I leave my two best friends.

Sleepily, I stumble to the back entrance of the castle, shoving the doors open unceremoniously. I feel like I'm in a haze.

My legs move through water, travelling down the corridor, seeking out a stairwell.

 _Maybe I should have woke them up and brought them with me, for this atleast_ , I think. I miss the comforting feel of my best friends’ arms wrapped around me as I try to block out the world. That oppressive silence, that uncooperative stubbornness-

They didn't understand it either, when _he_ just sat, eyes wide open, boneless, lifeless.

When Hermione saw him, she wanted him dead. Ron had to hold her back, protectively seizing her wand, but his actions had no justification. My explanation; the words felt like poison on my lips. He _had_ killed Dumbledore.

But, the traitorous truth was, as Ron pointed out, that we couldn't let the Ministry find him. We'd made the mistake of going to them too long ago to go back. The Minister couldn't be trusted. Fudge would take this as proof, hard-hitting evidence that _He-who-must-not-be-named is not back_ , and another soul for the Dementors; but _this_ , this whole thing, it's bigger than than him. It's bigger that Malfoy. Bigger than Snape, bigger than Lestrange. Bigger than them; pawns the lot of them.

I push off the last step and take a look around to see where I've arrived on the second floor, only a couple yards away from Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

I place a hand on the wall closest to me and I take weighted steps towards the door. The hinges squeak as it budges open and a deep voice echoes off the stone walls, now silenced.

“Thank the heavens you're back!” Myrtle simpers, floating over the sinks, “Mad, that one is. Talked nonstop and wouldn't even let me get in a word,” Myrtle pouts, doughy eyed, then she sighs and slips into her stall. I walk further in, hanging off her every word.

“What did he say, Myrtle?” I demand.

The girl moans distressingly and peeks out of the stall, “Oh it was terribly dark! Deaths, many deaths he said. He wouldn't stop on these ‘plans’, and the death. The gruesome, bloody _death_ ,” She hisses with a slimy smile, “I don't know if I could fit that many boys in my toilet.”

Myrtle flushes herself down with a squeal as I wobble on my heels.

I bound around the corner, down the row of stalls, and open up the farthest one where, in the corner, sits Draco Malfoy, bounded at the arms and legs.

His eyes look panicked, pupils dilated, but they gloss over in seconds. I bend over, trying to keep my pace, but I can feel myself losing it, “What did you tell her that you won't tell me?” I say, my top lip curling in a disparaging sneer. I'm met with stark silence. Blood pulses erratically through my veins.

Grabbing Malfoy by his yellowed collar, I bark, “What did you tell her?” But, Malfoy’s eyes are focused on the wall, as empty and dull as they seemed before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally posted to Tumblr [here](https://unusuallyzealousburgette.tumblr.com/post/165025720224/boys-like-us-part-2-the-aftermath). I really hope you liked this, please leave a kudos and a comment if you did. Seriously, any comment! Even if you hated it! Tell me! (Okay maybe not that lol)


	3. It's A What?

_Harry's POV_

I run my wand over the ropes around Malfoy’s upper arms, charming them tighter and stronger until I can see the skin bruising under their clutch, blood spilling from small etches and cuts above his elbow. Malfoy long ago passed out from exhaustion, but I won't give him the benefit of the doubt. I've seen what he can do, what he's done.

“Why won't she just tell us exactly what he said!” Hermione paces up and down the row of toilets, her tone outraged. 

“Do you want to try reasoning with her?” I ask. As I clench my jaw in frustration my eyes lower down to Malfoy’s wrists. Past the matted fringe that sticks my forehead with sweat, I can see that they're still unnaturally pale despite the blood that threatens to stain his hands.

Hermione stops, mouth fixed into a snarl and fists clenched at her sides, “I have tried. The bint wouldn't answer, you saw her.”

The frizzy-haired girl makes her way down the stalls again, towards the rusting sinks where Ron sits, eyes trained on the wall opposite of me. Through the stained glass windows the sun is beginning to rise, caught in a marred aura of red and orange, the light of which reflects in the puddles on the floor.

“We have to tell the Order, Harry. Otherwise there's nothing we can do,” Hermione resolves, shaking slightly with each step back my way.

I jump up and clutch her by the arm, “We can't tell them about this,” I desperately insist. Hermione pulls out of my grasp.

“We can't _torture_ him to get information, and we certainly can't defeat You-know-who on our own. We don't even know where to start! We know nothing!” She stares at me, imploring.

My mouth opens, but I shut it closed before a single world is uttered, stepping backwards. As I lift my fallen gaze to match the heat burning in Hermione’s eyes she stalks ever closer.

“Harry. What do you know?” her voice is shaky.

I swallow the lump in my throat, continuously moving back, “I haven’t told you two everything. Not yet.” I hear the sound of cloth rustling from where I can't see, past the brown-eyed girl.

“What haven't you told us, exactly?”

Ron places a placating hand on Hermione’s shoulder, mimicking her perplexed expression.

“I did tell you I was in the Astronomy Tower with Dumbledore when Malfoy arrived. But, Dumbledore… asked something of me. He wanted my help, to find one of Voldemort’s horcruxes.”

“A horcrux,” Hermione utters, “I've never heard of one before.”

“It's very old, very powerful magic,” I say, “ Splitting the soul. They're the key to defeating him. You destroy all of them, and-”

“And you destroy Voldemort.” I nod in agreement.

“Only, there are more. And he hadn't discovered how to destroy them yet.” I pull the locket I took off of Dumbledore’s body from my pocket, thumbing the charm. 

Hermione takes the locket into her hands, “This is is the Slytherin locket. It has the emblem.”

“It's one of them, the one we retrieved when I left with Dumbledore.” I pause, thinking for a moment, “I think I need to finish this, what Dumbledore was doing. I have to go find them, somehow, and kill him.”

Hermione gapes at me open-mouthed as the locket falls to the floor with a crack. The old, underused pipes leak from the ceiling, drip, drip, dripping onto the tiled floor.

“Harry what are you talking about? You can't defeat Voldemort. Getting rid of Umbridge was one thing, taking on the darkest wizard of our age is something completely different.”

“Then who's going to, Hermione? Certainly not the Order, they don't even know about the Horcruxes!”

“Then we’ll tell them, ” She insists.

I shake my head and lament, “Snape was a spy, Hermione! He betrayed Dumbledore and who knows who else is working for Voldemort in the order. We can't share this information.”

“Then we'll go with you.” Hermione wears the same stubborn mask but her eyes begin to water.

My voice cracking at the ends as I plead, “No, this is my job! Dumbledore gave it to me, not you. I'm not going to let you die too!”

“And what about you Harry! You can't keep putting everyone's life ahead of yours and think that's doing anyone any good! That's not how love works!”

“Why can't you just let me do this!” The plumbing underfoot creaks and sighs under the sudden movement.

“Because I care about you, Harry, believe it or not!”

“We both do.” Ron squeezes the hand on Hermione’s shoulder, “We are coming with you. Whether you like it or not.”

I want to push down the heat curling inside of me for them. I need to protect them. I can't have them waltz out on a foolhearted mission with me. I can't let emotion rule my life. I don't even know where I'm going. I have no leads.

Behind us I hear Malfoy murmur in a state of developing conciousness. 

_He must know something._

I bend down beside the boy and grab his chin, looking into his lidded eyes defiantly.

“Malfoy, wake up.” The blond coughs and opens his eyes halfway, but doesn't speak.

I search his eyes for anything that could set me off track. He looks too earnest, to willing, too broken. 

I stand and face Ron and Hermione’s exasperatedly knowing looks, “If you two are coming with me, then so is he.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to Tumblr [here.](https://unusuallyzealousburgette.tumblr.com/tagged/it%27s-a-what%3F) Hope you liked this, please leave a kudos and a comment if you did. Seriously, any comment! Even if you hated it! Tell me! (Okay maybe not that lol)


	4. Head For The Burrows

_Harry’s POV_

“Molly! Ginny!” 

My eyes dart around quickly, flickering with each strong pulse of the blood streaming through my veins. 

His eyelids have fallen only halfway closed in a paralyzed state and his skin dead and grey. I find my one hand buried in the cold leather that sticks to his back like a second skin, the other clenched around his loose grip of the motorcycle’s handlebar, my wand caught somewhere in between. 

I didn't want him to be the one to come with me, in fact I'd begged him not to. What would I do now if he was dead?

It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault-

“Molly! Ginny! Somebody, help!”

Molly Weasley’s brows are knit into one as she stares out from the greying picket fence, every bit of her countenance expressing perplexity. Ginny looks as though she can't believe her eyes even as she just watched us land from the sky like a pair of fallen angels. She runs out to us, stopped only by Molly’s arm and she leads forward hesitantly, the Burrow a blurry shadow behind them.

“What's happened to him?”

I shake my head stiffly and bark, “I don't know! He was hit with a curse or something, just help, please!”

The neighing of a thestral signals me from behind and my head whips around to recognize the scarred man and shaken witch instantly as they land on the edge of the bog. The creature raises up on its hind legs, bucking wildly as the two hold on for dear life. It’d be barely visible in the black of night if not for the moonlight that reflects off its leathery back.

Remus jumps off of the beast, ankle deep in the murky water, brandishing his wand. He steps forward looking all too cautious, “Hagrid, is… is he dead?”

“I don't know!” I say, seeing red behind my eyes, “How do you expect me to know?”

He stares at me a moment, head cocked to the side and pupils dilating as if he's just discovered the secrets of the universe, “Harry move back.”

“I don't need to move back!” I snarl, “Someone needs to bloody fucking help him!”

Remus wrestles my hand from his back, pulling me by the waist, “Harry, I said _move back_!”

Overcome by a rage bubbling up in my chest I pull my arm from his grip, bringing it back and then swinging it forward with enough force to have Remus stumbling backwards and falling off his feet when it hits him. He falls back dazedly, dust devils swirling around him. His delirious gaze narrows in, making him look dangerous and ready to snap, like an unpulled trigger, and for a moment the fog splits and I can see right through it.

“Remus. I'm-”

The spell hits me like a dunk into ice-cold water, pulling me straight through the haze and back to a rightful mind in one sharp, too quick tug at the temple.

As I open my eyes Hermione tugs me up and forward. I can see Molly out of the corner of my eye, tears spilling onto her cheeks. They're all looking at me. I ask them what I've just done.

“It was a compulsive curse.” Hermione breaths. She embraces me again and her scent fills me up. It's familiar and homey- like aged books and a crackling fire -a welcome change from the dirt and ash upturned on the London streets we travelled or the thick smog that fills it's skies, or even the eternal scent of furniture polish and potpourri that marked number 4 Privet Drive. 

The trip from number 4 to the Burrow, from what I saw, didn't go as planned. I remember thinking, for a moment, that this might actually be the end as Voldemort appeared out of a cloud of smoke and Hedwig fell from the sky.

_She wanted to protect me._

Remus hunches over Hagrid’s unconscious figure, a deep red, web-like net of spells spilling from his wand. “We were attacked. I'm not sure how they found us. Someone must have told them we’d be moving Harry.”

“Who exactly?” Molly asks. She looks fragile and hollow.

Hagrid rouses and I stoop to his side, brushing the fringe from his forehead. Remus rises off his bent knees, addressing Arthur darkly. 

“Voldemort and his death eaters.”

“ _No_.”

A crack of apparatus reveals Fred and George step off, Ron, Arthur and Tonks not far behind them.

“George!”

Molly falls over her feet to get to George as he collapses against Fred’s side, blood clotting from a gaping tear where his ear used to be. The skin unseen, instead dirt and mud masks what's left and runs down his neck and shoulder.

“What happened?” I nearly whisper.

“Mundungus happened,” Remus spits.

Ron runs a hand over his face, and says in a choked voice, “There we were, flying along, when You-Know-Who showed his ugly face and Mundungus apparated off of George’s broom. Got him hit in the side of the head with a nasty curse as he downward spiralled.”

Tonks herself limps forward, a hand held to the cut running down the side of her eye, “We landed and ran into a little pub and apparated from there, all the brooms left behind and… Mad Eye.” 

Remus’ hands shake as he grabs Tonks by the shoulders and presses his forehead to hers and allows her tears to flow unabashedly. He shushes her softly.

“Mad Eye’s dead.”

“No. No it can't be,” My hands shake at my sides, “I- I thought- I thought no one else was going to _die._ ” 

Hermione grips my left hand, “Oh. Harry.”

Instinctively I pull away from her sympathetic touch- that awful pitying gaze- scratching the palm of my hand obsessively. _How could this have happened?_

I watch Arthur, Ginny, and Fred help George and Hagrid inside carefully, Ron holding Molly back lest she keen over, and I wonder; how is it that, even when we’ve taken every precaution, everything can go so wrong? 

I feel as if the world is turned against me, it's entire weight falling on my shoulders, and everyone I love is toeing the line between life and death because of me.

But, It can't be just me, can it? This can't just be fate. Something we must have done was wrong. This can't be hopeless. 

I heat burns in my chest as I remember Remus’ words. _‘Someone must have told them we’d be moving’_ , but who? We’d already found the spy in our midst but…

No. He wouldn't _dare._

Charlie and Neville fly into view, stepping off their broom down on the farther end of the bog. My heart stops for a moment before speeding up to Firebolt speed.

_Someone must have told them we’d be moving._

I stalk closer, and press my wand to Neville’s throat accusingly without thinking.

“What. Happened.” I snarl.

Charlie grabs me by the shoulder and pushes me back, “Harry lay off! It's us!”

My breath heaving, I step back apprehensively. “You're the last ones back.”

Charlie grins proudly, stabbing Neville in the shoulder with his thumb, “Wouldn't gotten back at all if it wasn't for this one. Saved my life.”

I try to hide my astonishment but my tongue is tied.

“I'm guessing everyone else had a safe… trip. Dear Merlin, Harry.” Charlie takes in the scene that's set, his knuckles going white around my shoulder.

“Charlie-” I start but, really, what can I say? He bounds off in the other direction towards Molly, conceding to curiosity and grief.

The wind whistles through the growing brush and my breath steams up in the frigid night.

“Don't think this changes anything,” I hiss, raising my wand ever so slightly, Neville’s mouth quivers open, like he's about to say something, before he gives out and falls over from the knees. It's only when his head hits the ground that I notice the edges of his hair whitening.

My anger quickly gives way to desperation. I hastily take another step back, looking over my shoulder calling out to Hermione, but when I turn around, Remus is standing over me, his eyes wide and his jaw on the ground. 

“What the bloody hell?”

“Remus, wait! I can explain!”

“Harry move out of the way, he's a bloody death eater!” Remus pulls out his wand and points it at Malfoy’s now fully blond head, “Probably the one that cursed them too, huh? Cru-”

“Expelliarmus!”

Remus’ wand flies out of his hand into mine.

“What the hell, Harry?”

“Back up! All of you!” The field surrounding the Burrow is barren and empty but for the few of us. No one takes the first step forward.

“Harry.” Hermione whispers.

“What are you all doing! Harry’s obviously under the Imperius!” Charlie raises his wand but I expel it as well.

“Harry explain yourself right now or so help me!” Remus growls.

“He's with me.” I say simply.

The order fixes me with apprehensive glares.

Has their Chosen One finally gone mad? Have their pressures got to him?

I almost laugh at the thought of it.

“What does that mean?”

“Dumbledore gave us a mission before he died and I need his… help. He knows things. Things that will help us.” Remus’ eyes turn glossy and he takes a single step forward.

“Look, Harry, I know his death was hard for you b-”

“No! You don't get to tell me what to do. Not this time,” My brain feels awfully fuzzy, but I shake my head and lean a leg backward for support, raising my wand higher, “I know how to defeat Voldemort and I'm going to do it. You either let us stay, or we’ll leave now.”

Ron and Hermione hesitantly step forward.

“Harry,” Molly whispers. Ron puts a hand on her arm, keeping her up.

“Mum, I don't think you can tell him what to do on this one. Maybe he knows what he's doing,” Ginny speaks softly.

Molly sniffs and turns her head away as Ron tries to console her. Ron steps back, obviously hurt, but addresses me in particular, “Bring him up to my room. Hermione has the solvent in her bag; he's already taken double doses of polyjuice potion. There- there's dittany in there too, for George.”

Molly nods, still not looking at Ron, Hermione, or I, and the group disperses into the Burrow. I turn my back to them, kneeling next to Malfoy’s limp body. Charlie whispers, “I hope you know what you're doing.  
____________________________________________________

Hermione runs her finger along the cork in the bottle of solvent before popping it open and dissolving the monsoon powder in. She almost told Harry that she'd forgotten it, just to make Malfoy _suffer_ , but Harry’d never forgive her if he died before speaking up. For some reason he really believed that Malfoy was worth the trouble. Maybe she'd better put a little faith in him. He'd had enough trouble as is, right?

She climbs the last step to the hallway of the Burrow on which lies Ron’s room, a path she knows well. Hermione pushes the door open without hesitation, biting down a scowl and the blond boy who sits by the edge of Ron’s bed, unshackled. She plasters on a sickly sweet fake smile and her most sympathetic tone.

“Here, Malfoy. This will help with the pain.” she reaches out the hand with the bottle in it, sitting down in front of him, but the blond doesn't just take it yet.

The boy is still clothed in the oversized jacket and pants given to him at Privet drive, his sleeves pushed up the the elbows and the circular glasses long abandoned. He wears a tired but biting expression perceptible in his sharp countenance. His thin, dry lips pull into a grimace.

“How do I know this won't just kill me faster.” he says hoarsely. 

“I don't want you dead.” Hermione insists, leaving her arm outstretched and offering, but Malfoy scoffs indifferently.

“Am I supposed to believe you? I know you’d kill me if you had the chance, Granger. So sorry if that hurts your delicate sensibilities.”

“Not at all, Malfoy”

Malfoy raise a white eyebrow judgingly, but coughs into his elbow harshly, quickly banishing any previous appearance of his usual prissy, aristocratic persona. His face is greener than usual and his arms are covered in bruises and cuts, the bright orange of the room only serving to make him look more sickly. He's pitiable, at best.

“Godric, just take it!” Hermione says exasperatedly and shoves the flask into Malfoy’s closed hand, leaning back on her heels impatiently. The blond eyes the bottle suspiciously before his pain wins over and he downs the potion.

“See, you're not dead. And you're finally speaking to someone other than Moaning Myrtle.”

Malfoy clams up and drops the flask. He scoots back towards the bed, eyeing the floor.

“What?” Hermione snorts, “Did you tell her about a secret crush? Don't worry I won't tell.”

Malfoy scowls but doesn't reply, dragging his nails along the hardwood flooring.

Hermione tries to keep her cool but her patience is running dangerously thin.

“You do get that whatever you're hiding from us is the only thing keeping you here, don't you?”

“All the more reason to keep it a secret. Where else would I be kept alive?” he sneers.

Hermione bristles, “So you want _him_ to live then, do you? You want you and everyone you know and love to die? Because in the end he won't spare you, be sure. Not now. Not after what you've done. Running off with a couple of rebels now, are you?”

Malfoy stiffens, “Of course I don't want that.”

“Well you've done a great job of showing it.”

The blond’s hand falls to the purplish red bruises scattered up his arms, pressing and pinching, emitting small hisses of pain.

“You promise, that if I tell you what I know, you can kill him?”

Hermione’s jaw clenches, “I can't and won't promise you anything Malfoy.”

The moment of silence draws out between, thick and pensive.

“Fine.”

_________________________________________________

I slow my march to a creep up the stairs at the sound of Malfoy’s voice and- it must be- Hermione’s. The boy’s drawl reverberates off the walls, quiet and wispy, but demanding.

“You promise, that if I tell you what I know, you can kill him?”

“I can't and won't promise you anything, Malfoy.”

I peek into Ron’s doorway. Malfoy sits a few feet away from Hermione, running his left palm up his arm nervously.

The bushy-haired witch visibly suppresses a scoff, her nostrils flared and eyes rolling up to the ceiling.

“Fine.” He says, looking up as his adam's apple bobs slowly, “I'll tell you everything I know.”

I open the door fully and Malfoy stares up at me in astonishment.

“Go on, Malfoy.” I glare plainly, “Tell us what you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticisms and comments are welcome and encouraged always ;D


	5. What Lies Down The Stairs

_Harry’s POV_

I toss my wand from hand to hand, just feeling the weight if it. _That_ feels natural, good. This, on the other hand- being here where I don't belong, where everyone is pitted against me, with my friends lives on the line while Voldemort is planning and plotting if what Malfoy said was true- well, I don't even know if what Malfoy said is true. That Voldemort is looking for something? That he has some secret weapon that we don't know about? I suppose we do too, of sorts, but I dragged him along here and for all I know he could be leading us astray. I thought he deflected, that moment in the Astronomy Tower, but now I'm not so sure. I'm not so sure of anything.

“Harry? Zip me up, will you? I can never reach the tiny sodding zippers on these stupid things. Makes me wonder why people wear them. Believe me when I say I'd never wear a dress voluntarily.”

I spin around, smiling fondly and forgetting my worries at the sight of Ginny reaching helplessly behind her back for the miniscule zipper. Her hair is braided up into an intricate design at the nape of her neck above the plain, flared dress. It's a deep blue that matches her eyes. Despite her vehemently hating dresses, she does look quite beautiful dressed up in one.

“What,” I ask, pulling her zipper closed, “is Molly still upset with you?”

The bright-eyed witch turns around, grabbing me by the hand, and nods, “Because I stood up for you, and your decision which, by the way Harry, I don't even understand.” I sigh, squeezing her hand. _Blunt._

“You know I can't tell _you._ ”

Her face displays every bit of the fiery stubbornness that made me fall in love with her. She purses her lips, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “Tell me exactly what you'd tell any one of them, then.” 

“You know that’s not what I meant, Ginny. It’s just… he knows things, okay? Stuff about You-Know-Who that no one else on our side knows. Things that will help us find him. We need all the help we can get.”

“Fine then,” she huffs, “Take me with you if you need so much help fighting this war on your own.”

I shake my head, my eyes falling to the floor, “No. I can't do that. I barely let Ron and Hermione come along and Molly would never allow it. Besides, you've got Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts isn't going to be the same and we all know it. Why is that everyone insists of feigning normalcy? I mean, they're throwing a sodding wedding, for Merlin’s sake.”

I grin at Ginny’s words. I can always count on her to be a hopeless realist. I lean forwards to place a peck on her forehead, but end up at her identical height, and pull her in for a real kiss.

Her lips are warm and soft for the moments they're on mine but she turns her head quickly, words on the tip of her tongue. The staircase creaks ominously and I throw Ginny back, pulling out my wand to find that it's only… Malfoy.

“What is it, Malfoy?” I can feel the weight of his wand in my back pocket.

He walks forward on a slight limp, and extends his right arm. I gulp down a sliver of guilt at seeing the purple rings on his wrists and biceps, not even forgotten when I remember what’s practically engraved into his father's left arm. It's not about what he's done, it's about what _I've_ done. After all, his wrist is clean.

“A letter came through for you.” he promptly turns on his heel to leave.

“Wait,” I shout. I dig into my pocket and pull out the hawthorn wand, tossing it over. “Hermione’ll need it to make the- uh- charms work correctly. For your glamours. Just, don't get any funny ideas.”

Malfoy snatches the wand with seeker speed and precision, nodding curtly and continuing up the stairs.

“What's in the post?” Ginny asks, stepping closer, “It looks important.”

I take my first real look at the envelope. It's stamped with the Ministry seal. I tear it open hastily, pulling out the letter. “It's from Minister Scrimgeour. He's made an appointment at two o’clock here, with Hermione, Ron, and I.”

“What for? You don't think they know, do you?”

“I hope not. And, if they don't already, they're not going to,” I squeeze Ginny’s shoulder in a way that I hope is reassuring. “I promise.”

Ginny smiles placidly and repeats the words I've heard all too well before, “I really do hope you know what you're doing, Harry,” and walks away.

The only thing is, I'm not sure I do.  
___________________________________________________

_Draco’s POV_

I can barely catch my breath coming down the endless, winding, wooden staircase for the third time today, but the physical exertion- the burning lungs and tight calves- feels, almost, good. Though I would prefer anything to how I'm feeling emotionally: ashamed, angry, scared, melancholy, anxious, and paranoid all at once.

Ashamed, of course, that I'd gotten myself caught up in this war in the first place. Angry that Potter, Weasley, and Granger have got me by a leash while simultaneously being the only people keeping me alive. Scared that my mother and father are being killed, or worse, tortured because of what I failed to do and did at the same time. Melancholy because of what I did do, on my own accord or not, and because of who's hurting because of it. Anxious because all this lays on my mind and shoulders. And paranoid that life as I know it, no matter how dreary and dry, could be taken away from me at a moment's notice by either side or none at all; that they could find me and destroy us all, that hope could be lost forever.

And, whenever I think that maybe, just maybe, if I did one thing differently in my life I would end up somewhere differently, I just can't seem to find an opportunity to change. What, should I have tried harder to become friends with Potter? I’d’ve ended up on the right side, but he sealed that fate, he denied me. 

Maybe I could have not joined the death eater's ranks then, but how was I to know that Voldemort was batshit crazy? His old, wise ideas that he used to preach of keeping magic in pureblooded families, of separating our world from those meddlesome, violent muggles and mudbloods- he never lived up to those. He got caught up in the allure that is immortality and set his efforts completely on murdering a teenaged boy and overthrowing the ministry. That'd be no help.

So maybe I should have got out while I could? Refused to go through with the murder and taken the hand Dumbledore held out to me on so many occasions, but what would happen then? I'd get out and leave my family to suffer or else the Order would drain me of information like they are now and then throw me into Azkaban for the crime that is being me.

I was cursed from the moment I escaped the womb.

My thoughts are interrupted by a chattering one flight down. I stand on the top stair, my back goes stiff. An old man- the Minister- sits with his back to the staircase facing Potter, who’s sitting between Granger and Weasley on an old sofa in front of the window to the back yard. His bodily expression is emotionless as he speaks.

“I don't know what you're planning, but you can't win this war on your own, Mr. Potter.” 

Scrimgeour stands from his wooden chair, picking up a satchel from the floor. He extends a hand but his handshake is as unreturned as his remark. He let's out a barely perceptible breath and turns to leave through the front door, making me remember at a seconds notice that I am not merely a fly on the wall. I'm here, and I'm not wanted.

The Minister gazes up the stairs, “Oh, hullo. I didn't hear anyone there. You must be a relation of the Weasley’s, am I correct?”

My hand flies to my- no not mine- a Weasley’s red hair this time. “Oh, yes. Distant cousin. Go by the name of Timothy.” I descend the stairs as slowly and calmly as I can with my heart beating out of my chest. Instinctively I reach out an arm to shake, ramrod straight, and grasp the Minister’s hand.

“Ah,” Scrimgeour ejaculates, “And where are you from?”

“Romania. Just got back with my cousin Charlie.”

“Ah yes, well.” The Minister keeps a placating smile on his lips while his eyes narrow, piercing through my skin. He releases my grip and steps away. “A good afternoon to you all.”

A full minute passes after the front door falls closed and I realize that I haven't moved an inch. Weasley sniggers in a derisory fashion, his girlfriend scowling openly at me.

“He isn't going to recognize you. My glampours don't falter, they should last you through the night.” she pushes me out of the way and climbs up the stairs, a thin book in her hand. Weasley follows, sneaking past in a less obtrusive way. Potter stops upon approaching me, examining the glamours closely. 

“You'll blend in with everyone else just fine now. Go outside and helps set up, we’ll be down in a minute.”

I nod and make to leave, walking into Potter’s outstretched arm and open palm.

“Wand.” he says.

I grimace, anger taking forefront in my mind, and slap the wand into his hand. “Fine, I'll just tell them I lost it. Seems like a Weasley thing to do.”

He sneers, “There you go, there is something in that pretty head of your’s.”

“Maybe it's the red hair,” I try, cringing as I turn away. _Really? The red hair? I couldn't have come up with a better comeback than that?_

“Nice quip, _Weasley._ ” his voice is biting and full of disdain, following me out the door.

I almost laugh. How could I have actually wanted to be his friend once?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter! Writing Draco in this way will always be one of my favorite things, I think, because his redemption was never really explored in canon. However I do find it kind of difficult. Where do I cross the line, am I making him irredeemable? 
> 
> Anyway, please leave a comment letting me know (I loveeee constructive criticism) and kudos if you liked this! Seriously, any comment! Even if you hated it! Tell me! (Okay maybe not that lol)


	6. The Tarnished Name

_Harry’s POV ___

__As Hermione raises her wand between my brows a drop of perspiration makes it’s way down her creased forehead._ _

__“The scar’s the last thing to go,” she informs diplomatically. “This might hurt.”_ _

__A string of yellow light flows from her wand, latching onto my skin and threading into a thick knit of charms. I can feel the sharp nick in my aura that is Hermione’s magic. The glamours cover every inch of my skin._ _

__I turn and gaze into the mirror by Ron’s bed; it's covered head to toe in bright orange garb. My face- if it can even be called that- is pale and freckled; my frame is taller and lankier than before; my hair is brighter and straighter than it's ever been. I don't recognize myself because I'm not myself anymore. I'm not Harry Potter. I'm a Weasley._ _

__“Hermione-” I gasp. Her glamours are absolutely breathtaking._ _

__“I know, it is awful odd to see yourself as someone else, but this had to be done,” she says. “Too many unknowns will arrive at the wedding and if any one of them were to leak that you’re here-”_ _

__“-I won't tell anyone, don't worry,” I place a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, “We'll be okay.”_ _

__Her worried expression fades as she smiles lightly. “I didn't realize how odd this would be for me,” she says, “You look like Ron’s evil twin.”_ _

__“Why should I be the evil one?”_ _

__She shrugs with a smirk and shooes me out of the room, “Ive got to get ready,” she says, turning decisively to her suitcase and bending down before it. One hand of her’s rubs along her inner wrist, pulling the too-large sleeves up and over the hand._ _

__I descend the stairs slowly and thoughtfully, running my hand along the worn wood and counting the nicks._ _

__Downstairs, on the couch by the window, is a sulkily redheaded boy. I close the distance between us to meet him. He's wearing navy dress robes, nothing as extravagant as to what he should be usually acquainted._ _

__“You're still here?” I jeer. "Why haven't you gone out yet?"_ _

__Malfoy lifts his gaze from his chewed up fingernails; I can't tell if they're his or not. “I went out for a moment, then came back in. Decided not to risk Granger's 'foolproof' charms failing again with no protection around? No thank you. For all I know she really is out to get me. After all Granger claimed she couldn't work out the natural waves in my hair, that it would have been too complicated,” he says, observing the appearance of my hair. He looks me up and down in a way so welly sanctimonious that I have to remind myself that I have the upper hand here. Malfoy continues, “Apparently that was a lie.”_ _

__His appearance is scarily similar to mine own, still taking in the wavy hair. He's not much taller than he was before, or whiter- having been taller and whiter than me before any way- but our jaw lines are similarly harsh and our eyes an identical shade of milky blue._ _

__I shake my head and walk to the back door, forcing my nose into the air, “Good to know I didn't greet the wrong Weasley. I assume Hermione told you we're going to be seating the guests.”_ _

__“She did,” he affirms, standing and following like a petulant dog._ _

__I stop by the door, “Just remember, no funny business.”_ _

__“Well what should I do without my wand and at a wedding of all places?”_ _

__“Oh I don't know,” I respond slyly, “Maybe, steal someone else's and cast a Morsmordre.”_ _

__Malfoy stiffens by my side, “Why would I want to summon him?”_ _

__“Why would you spill your guts so easily to Hermione? Why would you just come along with us so easily? Just remember Ferret, I don't trust you and I never will,” I can see the confusion written on his face and smile._ _

__A crunching sound follows my every step as the Dandelion necks snap underfoot. It’s still brightly lit out. Must be some time about mid-afternoon._ _

__Ron, George, and Fred stand three of them outside the purple tent. Ron is far off to the side conversing with a brightly coloured speck of sunlight._ _

__I cannot yet see inside of the canopy, but the fabric, from the outside, is a dark, glimmering purple that seems to be made out of raw magic itself, and the field is overgrown with tall grasses and wildflowers as multicoloured as the butterflies that make their ways around us. I know for a fact that the tent must be more spacious than it appears from here as it is still exponentially larger than the one we rented for the World Cup all those years ago._ _

__“Wotcher _Barny_ , Tim,” Fred greets with surprising geniality. _ _

__“Hullo” I say flippantly. Malfoy stops at the heels of my feet and nods at the twins, then gazes off in the other direction and wanders towards Ron._ _

__“Best watch out for him, Harry,” Fred is saying as George eyes Malfoy’s retreating figure, “That is him, isn't it? Remus seems pretty suspicious of him, and when hasn't the old dog been right, eh? He did some good bringing my brother back home and for that I'll be somewhat not-horrible, but he's pushing it with every breath.”_ _

__“Relax, I've already got his wand,” I tell him, lifting my hands placatingly._ _

__“Are you absolutely sure he can't do wandless?” asks Fred._ _

__“Well, no, but this is Malfoy we’re talking about. He's just a foul git,” I respond._ _

__“And top of Slytherin class I've heard,” one of them says._ _

__“And training under Voldemort for a year,” says the other._ _

__“And killed Dumbledore yourself, isn't that what you said Harry?”_ _

__“That's not exactly-” The twins fix me with identically inquisitive looks I find myself best fit to stop there, “Look. I'll keep good eye on him. I know what I'm doing,” I reassure myself._ _

__I pause for a second, looking down at Malfoy and wondering. No guests have arrived yet. The twins look at me knowingly._ _

__Ron and Malfoy both now seem to be caught up in a conversation with the sunbeam with blond hair. He now appears to be a thin, wiry old man with the oddest outwards expression, and it’s his robes that radiate yellow light. They're golden and glowing, and a triangular necklace dangles from his neck beneath his overgrown hair._ _

__I leave Fred and George and walk in closer to the odd wizard._ _

__After a moment of hearing his dreamy, meandering voice from afar I recognize the man’s heritage instantly and his daughter comes running up to me from behind him. I'm only a few feet away from the man in question but she comes up to me in particular with regard sparkling in her milky eyes._ _

__“Harry.” Luna says simply, kindly._ _

__I gape openly, “How did you know it was me?”_ _

__“Oh, just your expression,” Luna smiles. She’s wearing bright, lemony robes just like man behind her, but her’s are flared at the stomach rather than the lower waist making her all the more out of place among the clean straight cut witches and wizards and yet, it suits her. She looks decidedly beautiful._ _

__“Luna,” I ask, deciding to bypass her clairvoyancy, “Is that man over there your father?”_ _

__Luna nods, “Here, let me introduce you.” She pulls me along a couple of feet and stops by her father’s side. “Daddy, I'd like you to meet-”_ _

__“-Barny.” I interject quickly. The man flinches under Luna’s hand, stiffening, then reaches for my hand excitedly. The silver pendant on his neck dangles precariously from its chain._ _

__“Barny? Is it? Must be a Weasley I’m sure! Xenophilius Lovegood, I write for the Quibbler,” He says in a rush. Lovegood then switches his attentions so quickly it must have given him whiplash and latches onto Luna’s hand._ _

__“Luna dear, where were you? I was just asking these kind gentlemen about you-” he waves a hand towards Ron and Malfoy, Malfoy looking unnaturally stoic. Luna observes the two with quick smiles. Her head cocks slightly as she takes in Malfoy’s appearance, or more his expression, but she rights it and turns back to her father._ _

__“There is no need to get so worked up again, Daddy. I was admiring the gnomes. Look, one of them bit me,” Luna says. Ron sends me a look of bewilderment._ _

__Lovegood’s countenance relaxes as he raises Luna’s bleeding thumb. He looks at appraisingly and squeezes out a bit of blood, much to my displeasure. Lovegood seems appeased and pleased and drops Luna’s hand, telling her, “Very good, very good. You know gnome saliva is very beneficial, getting bit by one is a gift. If you feel any urge to sing or dance very suddenly do not suppress it!” Thenn to Ron he says, “Those are some fine gnomes you have there.”_ _

__Ron runs a hand through his hair and agrees, “They do know some wonderful curse words but that's mostly because Fred and George taught them.”_ _

__“Yes, yes.” The man says._ _

__Lovegood nods and Luna, at an awkward dip in conversation, bids goodbye to _Barny_ , Ron, and our unnamed friend (Thank Merlin) and leads her father away. Lovegood is sure to tell us profusely how wonderful it was to meet us and how he hopes that we shan’t get into any trouble with the Wrackspurts._ _

__When they’re finally out of view Ron breathes a sigh of relief, “Easily one of the strangest conversation I've ever had. The man kept insisting that we do ‘pull checks’ for ‘Must Sprites’, whatever the bloody hell those are.” He emphasizes with finger quotes and eye rolls._ _

__Ron rubs a hand down his face, “Do you think we should have seated them?”_ _

__“No,” I reply, looking down the tent’s entrance where the first couple of guests are arriving, "Fred and George will take care of the first few. Besides I'd rather not be around _him_ much more. Nice bloke I'm sure, but gives me the heebies.”_ _

__Malfoy snorts at that and, for the first time, I remember that he's there at all. Now his former, more stoical, stance seems more frozen than anything._ _

__“What is it, Ferret?” I say, “Mad because he made fun of your snotty voice?”_ _

__Malfoy, who before looked as though he was ready to burst with information now has his mouth shut so tightly his jawline sticks inches out._ _

__“Fuck off, Scarface.”_ _

__“Hey,” Ron intervenes sternly, stepping between us, “You're supposed to be brothers, remember? You can't go and quarrel all night. You'll have to be by each other's sides the whole evening so please, Harry?” Ron pleads with me sympathetically._ _

__Malfoy snorts and raises his hands as he backs off._ _

__“Good. Now hurry back, more people are arriving.” Ron says. He walks off in the other direction and Malfoy makes moves to follow him when I grab his arm._ _

__“If you've got something to say, say it Malfoy.” I hiss with zeal, “Otherwise you just might be useless to me and I can give you over to Remus, who, by the way, is _dying_ to get his hands dirty.”_ _

__Malfoy pales at that and snatches his arm away. He sneers, “Didn't you notice anything _odd_ about that necklace of his?”_ _

__I snort, “Everything about the Lovegoods is odd. What's your point?”_ _

__“My point is that that particular charm isn't just odd, in fact I wouldn't be surprised if more than a few of the older guests refuse to sit by him because of it. That's Grindelwald's symbol. It's as bad as a… as a mark.”_ _

__I shake my head incredulously, “No, no. Why would Lovegood be wearing that?”_ _

__“Maybe he doesn't know what it is, maybe he does,” Malfoy shrugs._ _

__“No, there’s no way. How do you even know that's the correct symbol?”_ _

__Malfoy tucks his hands into his inner elbows, leaning forward, “I thought was the Dark Magic expert here; your connoisseur?”_ _

__“Well that's definitely not what you are,” I insist, gazing elsewhere._ _

__“So you don't trust my knowledge of all things sinister? One would think you'd be the first to jump on that train.” Malfoy fixes me with a hard, unwavering look. He looks so sure of himself, why should I doubt him? What could he possibly get out of lying anyway._ _

__I open my mouth the speak but end up gulping like a fish out of water. “I-” I start, “We have other things to worry about right now.”_ _

__“Oh sure,” Malfoy says as he stalks away, “Because seating redheads and Veelas will be so much work.”_ _

__I rub uncomfortably at my wrist and try to push any thoughts of Lovegood from my mind. Could there be any kind of relation between that symbol and Voldemort? What does that symbol even mean?_ _

__We seat several guests to either side of the venue in quick succession as more and more arrive; the inside is even more beautiful than out. The tent’s interior stretches far beyond what it should to seat the hordes of guests. The seats are white with purple ribbons tied in perfect bows around them while matching rose petals line the aisle and a chair larger than life sits in the back for Hagrid alone. At the end of the aisle, under a white, flowered arch, are two large geldon thrones that draw the attention of every body in the room._ _

__Mr. and Mrs. Maheswaran- Arthur’s friends from the Ministry- bask in their beauty as I seat them on the Weasley’s side. I wonder if they should even be here at all; relations with the ministry have become rather precarious these days._ _

__As I'm on my way back to the entrance, trampling rose petals, a sharp, clawed hand wraps itself around my upper arm. I jump in fright but the old women remains unbothered and begins to berate me, of all things._ _

__“You, boy! Why haven't I been seated yet? I've been forced to wait around with these _Veela_ ; I'm a close relative of the groom I'll have you know!” The old hag has a marring look of disgust in her face as she observes me. “Are you a Weasley?”_ _

__“Yes er- Ma’am?” I say, still surprised, “Here, let me sit yo-”_ _

__“It's about bloody time too!” she interrupts flippantly, “And what is with this family? Birthing out babies like hotcakes!”_ _

__I halt in my steps but the women prods me in the back harshly and swears her annoyance. As it turns out her seat is indeed on the Weasley side; serves her right for all her red hair and pale wrinkled skin. After demanding that I move her seat up- closer the ceremony- the women sits, still searching around and complaining petulantly._ _

__Ron approaches me suddenly, whispering in my ear, “Mate, you weren't supposed to take her!”_ _

__“Well why not?” I ask, “Sure, she's a bit difficult to be around,” I laugh, “But I can take an old hag.”_ _

__Ron quickly pulls me outside of the tent, “That's my Great-Aunt Myrtle you're talking about!” he squeals._ _

__“Oh, well I'm sorry?” I chuckle, unable to hold in back._ _

__Ron breaks a small smile, “No, I mean it's true and all, but you can't just go saying that, mate. She's mad enough as it is, has it out for Veela’s since one disguised as a man broke ‘er heart. Mum says to watch out for ‘er ‘cause she's likely to ruin the whole thing.”_ _

__“Really, Ron? You're trying to convince me that that cranky old women is going to blow the roof down?”_ _

__“Yes actually,” Ron insists. I shut my mouth._ _

__Looking around I notice that all the guests have arrived and the sun is starting on setting._ _

__“We can't go to our seats without Hermione,” Ron says._ _

__“I'm right here!”_ _

__We both jump at the sound of Hermione’s voice booming out from behind me. She stands awkwardly in a beautiful, blooming red dress. Her hair is braided up into an elegant knot and I detect a particular rosiness to her lips and cheeks._ _

__“Blimey Hermione!” I cry, holding a hand to my chest, “What the devil are you doing out here?”_ _

__Hermione fidgets nervously with the purple pouch around her wrist, “Fleur got nervous; couldn't properly put on her dress. They needed help.”_ _

__“Fleur needed help? Perfect Fleur?” Ron says astounded._ _

__“Yes,” Hermione blushes sternly, “Why else would I be out so late do you suppose, Ronald?”_ _

__“I wouldn't know. Planning another trick on Malfoy perhaps?”_ _

__The sun is slowly setting, the field from east to west are empty, “Where is Malfoy?”_ _

__“He's inside,” Ron stutters, the enclosing cold beginning to take effect on his red cheeks._ _

__“Seated?” I presume._ _

__Ron nods. We're the last ones to fall inside and find our seats; third row to the left on the Weasley’s side. I sit myself on the innermost seat next to Malfoy; he stiffens as I fall onto the goose feather cushion. I make a point of saying nothing to him but allowing our arms to brush; my hand is close enough to jump and grab him at a moment's notice._ _

__It takes ten minutes after we sit for the ceremony to begin; the chatter dies down once the lulling music begins and Bill is spotted at the forefront of the room. I almost miss the entrance of Ginny as a bridesmaid in my concentration on Malfoy alone._ _

__She's wearing a purple dress like the rest of the bridesmaids and she smiles at me as she passes by._ _

__Finally, Fleur sweeps down the aisle, her dress a snow white, feathered gown of dreams. She glows like an angel and the air around her glitters like jewels. She's everything a bride wants to be and ought to be._ _

__Fleur glides on ice until she's adjacent of Bill, looking lovingly into his eyes. They clasp each other's hands and step closer, their heads falling together. My heart stutters at the romanticism of it all._ _

__The bonder is a short, silvery white-headed man. When he begins the service I barely hear his words until, near the end, he takes out his wand and casts aurora like charms that lash around the couple, bounding their hands and lips together and says, “Newly bonded, Mrs. and Mr. Bill Delacour!”_ _

__In a flash a puff of white doves fly out from behind the two, breaking them from their reverie. The bonder flicks his wand and we're all forced to our feet to watch, with plentiful awe; the chairs leave our vicinity and crowd around circular tables off to the side, leaving an extensive dance floor in the center. A spotlight follows Bill and Fleur to the center as they prepare for their dance. Music comes from all angles, light and feathery._ _

__“Come,” Ron whispers, “You want to get a table before they run out.”_ _

__We watch the remainder of the first dance from a clothed table near the back when plates of (what appear to be) chicken or fish appear as per request._ _

__“Oh!” Hermione exclaims, “It's just like Hogwarts!”_ _

__Just like Ron predicted, the opposing families take up the tables within minutes, remaining witches and wizards resolving to take up the dance floor. Bill and Fleur are seated it the thrones at the center of the room._ _

__I take up my fork and knife and dig into the brownish fillet on my plate. Surprisingly, it tastes just like chicken._ _

__A tall, bulky man approaches our table. A thickly foreign accent muffling his voice, he asks, “Vay I zit?”_ _

__“Viktor!” Hermione squeals, jumping up from her seat with glee to embrace the Bulgarian. Ron’s face takes on a sour appearance._ _

__“What are you doing here?” She yells, pulling away from Krum._ _

__Krum smiles brightly, “Fleur invited me. Ve have veen qvite close zince Ze Tournament.” Suddenly addressing the rest of our party, he greets, “Vello, Ron. And Ron’s velevative I believe? How are zou?”_ _

__“Just fine!” I shout over Ron's unkind mutterings, “And you?”_ _

__“Vell!” Krum turns back to Hermione, “May I zit?”_ _

__“Absolutely not, Viktor! You must allow me a dance!” she shouts, waving a hand to the floor._ _

__A gentleman as always, Krum sweeps into a bow and guides Hermione into a Waltz. With only the two of us left at the table, a group of elderly Veela relatives begs us for the table. I leave sadly, feeling the regret of having left my meal._ _

__“Blasted Bulgarians,” Ron complains, “I'm going to go find Ginny. She'll know where they keep the Firewhiskey.”_ _

__My eyes are following a particularly amusing Weasley, who is most surely drunk, when I see him._ _

__Seated at a lonely table is Elphias Doge, member of the Order of the Phoenix and the writer of Dumbledore’s obituary in the Daily Prophet, one could hardly forget him. Wilted white hair, a vacant and slightly mad resting expression. It's no wonder he’s alone. At the very least, though, he knew Dumbledore. He might know something, about the Horcruxes. He might know about something that Dumbledore knew._ _

__“Mate, are you coming?” My head whips back to Ron and I excuse myself, “I'll follow up in a minute!” I lie. My feet lead me towards the man._ _

__“Excuse me,” I say to him, “may I sit?”_ _

__Doge looks up rather shocked and rushes me into the seat, saying, “Of course, of course!”_ _

__He turns back to the dance floor momentarily, his head bouncing and foot tapping. I tentatively bite my lip and lean forward- he's sitting right next to me._ _

__“Mr. Doge, sir? That is your name, isn't it?”_ _

__The greying old man turns back around and says, “You're going to need to speak up, m’boy.”_ _

__I grit my teeth._ _

__“My name is Harry Potter.”_ _

__Mr. Doge gasps and scoots his chair closer. “Pardon?”_ _

__“I'm afraid I can't risk saying that again, sir.”_ _

__Elphias Doge flings his arms over his mouth, knocking over a goblet of champagne in the process. His head shakes reverently as his eyes fill with tiny tears “I'm so sorry, m’boy! Just a bit shocked- Arthur told me you were here- wasn't sure! Thought about writing you- I did- after that obituary.”_ _

__I place a hand on his shoulder, awkwardly. “It's right fine, I suppose._ _

__“I did see your obituary, though. It's why I thought I could speak to you? You did know Dumbledore well, didn't you, Mr. Doge?”_ _

__“Call me Elphias,” the man says, “Mr. Doge was my father.”_ _

__“Elphias, then…” I smile._ _

__“Yes I did know Albus quite well. Better than most in fact. Why is it you ask, dear boy?”_ _

__“Well, I wondered if you'd happened to see the interview Rita Skeeter gave on Professor Dumbledore?”_ _

__“In fact I did.” Elphias’ hand grips the table tightly, making in wobble precariously. “Can you believe the hogwash she spat? I'm afraid I acted quote poorly in light of it too. Didn't shed such a positive image on myself, did it now?” The longer he speaks the quicker and less thoughtful his words come out._ _

__“I do believe,” I continue, “that, in the interview, Skeeter might have hinted at something involving Dumbledore pertaining to the Dark Arts?...”_ _

__“Hogwash!” Elphias shakes his head and runs a hand down his robes and whispers conspiratorially, “Do not believe a word of it Harry. A money hungry vulture that woman is, she knew absolutely nothing of the Dumbledores. Let her not tarnish memories of the great Albus Dumbledore.”_ _

__I lean back quickly and wipe a bit of spittle from my ear and feeling more pained and confused than he did before. Nothing could just be that easy._ _

__“But, sir, Dumbledore was young once…”_ _

__Elphias seems to perceive my concern and hurries on, “Please, Harry! Rita Skeeter is a terrible, awful, no good-”_ _

__“Did I hear someone mention Rita Skeeter?”_ _

__I look up to a Ron’s Great-Aunt Muriel wobbling around with a large goblet of champagne in her hand. Her figure is bloated with cheap alcohol, and she looks horribly fatigued and likely to pass out to bat as she steals a chair from a sprightly young man and plops herself down._ _

__“Love her!” she continues. “Subscribed to all of her works!”_ _

__“Muriel,” Elphias says with veiled disdain. He leans back in his chair and reaches for a righted goblet._ _

__“Elphias, Barry or whoever you are,” She drawls. “What _were_ you saying about Rita Skeeter? Did you hear she's releasing a book- a biography- on Albus Dumbledore? I can wait for it to come in!”_ _

__Auntie Muriel takes a gulp of her drink and holds in a belch, “Sure to be full of juicy secrets, I'm sure.”_ _

__“Gossip. Parlor women gossip,” Elphias mutters, but Muriel picks up on it quickly._ _

__“What was that?” She shouts. “I'm sure _you_ haven't got anything interesting to say on the subject having known your obsessive affinity to all things Dumbledore.” The woman snorts._ _

__“I'll have you know that the Dumbledores were a revered and respected family and I will not sit here while you spill petty gossip about them, I'll tell you,” Elphias says, red in the face._ _

__Muriel relaxes backwards. “‘ _Were’_ you say? Forgotten about old Aberforth so soon?” _ _

__The old woman licks her lips and pushes forward._ _

__“After all,” she says, “he's not the only thing you skipped over in that obituary of yours. I do think you'd still think Albus a saint even after everybody finds out about what happened to his poor Squib sister.”_ _

__Elphias looks likely to burst, but I interrupt._ _

__“Squib?” I say. “I thought she was sick- Dumbledore’s sister that is.”_ _

__“Oh no my dear,” Muriel leers, “I assure you it would cost much more than that to just do away with her.”_ _

__“Do away?”_ _

__“Indeed! Now did the Dumbledores keep some secrets. ‘S why I can't wait for Skeeter’s book to unearth them all! It'll be quite the scandal!”_ _

__Elphias splutters. “Stop this at once Muriel! You're filling this boy’s head with nonsense!” He speaks passionately, and yet I find myself ignoring his words._ _

__“Albus never talked about Ariana because he was so devastated-”_ _

__“Devastated? Now who's speaking nonsense?” Auntie Muriel shakes her balding head. “Why would Albus be devastated when _he_ was the one flouncing around Hogwarts while poor old Ariana was locked in the cellar! None of us even knew she existed ‘till the funeral!”_ _

__“Cellar!” I cry hoarsely. “What do you mean locked in the cellar?”_ _

__“Oh it was Mrs. Dumbledore, a wicked old woman, Muggleborn too. Guess she didn't want any sight of her past!” Muriel cackled._ _

__“Dumbledore never told me any of this.”_ _

__Muriel snaps her head towards me, “Well why would he tell _you_ anything?”_ _

__I look down at my pale hands. “He… wouldn't. ..”_ _

__“Correct!” she rings spitefully._ _

__“None of this is true!” Elphias slams a hand on the clothed table._ _

__“Well of course it is, Elphy,” says Muriel, wagging a finger. “You know it as well as I so just fess up! I was there to hear all of Mommy’s talk with Bagshot from behind my bedroom door when I was young and you had better believe it is not something I would forget.”_ _

__Muriel gulps down more champagne, this time allowing a burp to mingle with her high-pitched laughter, “You know I think that it was Bagshot who told it all to Skeeter! Just imagine!”_ _

__“Bathilda would never speak to the likes of Rita bloody Skeeter!” hisses Doge._ _

__“Bathilda Bagshot?” I says, deep in thought. “Author of _A History of Magic?_ ”_ _

__“More of a gaga these days than any kind of author,” Muriel says._ _

__“Exactly!” Elphias shouts, grasping onto that slinking piece of redemption. “Even if she were to talk to Skeeter she wouldn't remember a bloody thing!”_ _

__“There are other ways to reclaim memories, Elphy. You know this. Well worth a trip to Godric’s Hollow on Rita’s part I'd say.”_ _

__By now my stomach is turning like a back washer machine, performing poorly planned somersaults._ _

__“She lives where?”_ _

__“Godric’s Hollow, of course! The Dumbledore’s moved there after Percival was imprisoned and she was their neighbor.”_ _

__“The Dumbledores lived in Godric hollow?”_ _

__“Yes, I do believe I've just said that,” Aunt Muriel says warningly._ _

__I can't help but wonder, now, whether Dumbledore’s sister might be buried next to my mum and dad. My throat chokes up a bit. How did Dumbledore never think it important to tell me these things? Wouldn't they make us more connected in somehow? Couldn't they have helped me in some kind of way?_ _

__I can't even tell why this is so important as it is now, but it just is._ _

__“Dear Merlin, Muriel! You've spit nothing but _lies_.”_ _

__Auntie Muriel doesn't like that._ _

__“Lies? Oh I'll tell you lies. Lies you've told about how Dumbledore died- at the hands of a death eater- bloody hog’s wash that is when we all know it was that Malfoy boy who'd done it, not to even say those two are mutually exclusive!”_ _

__My head whips back up. Malfoy. Fuck._ _

__My eyes flickering around in front of me, I don't see Hermione until she draws her chair up next to me._ _

__“I'm exhausted,” she cries, throwing her head back onto my shoulder, “It feels as though I've been dancing for hours! You know I've been looking for you. And I've no idea where Ron’s went. Viktor cut me off after seeing Xenophilius Lovegood- isn't that odd? I could have sworn it was-” Hermione suddenly stops, turning to face me, “Harry are you alright?_ _

__“Malfoy.” I whisper._ _

__“What?”_ _

__“Malfoy!”_ _

__I don't even know where to begin. My head is rushing and, for a moment, I'm sure the rush of white light is a figment of my imagination, but that's before the lynx lands in between astonished dancers. The patronus glares at us all, taking slow purposeful steps. It freezes and opens wide it's mouth to speak in the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt._ _

__“ _The Ministry has fall. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming._ ”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, and please leave a comment letting me know (I loveeee constructive criticism) and kudos if you did. Seriously, any comment! Even if you hated it! Tell me! (Okay maybe not that lol)


	7. Jumped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Read by @InkSilver

_Draco’s POV_

A rough hand clings to my arm through the jump. The second that the ground materializes under my feet, the hand tightens and pulls me backwards onto my heels as a screeching vehicle slips past. Car horns honk impatiently and blinding light comes from all directions drowning out what should be a dark night. Smelly bodies shuffle past without reservation.

“What the bloody hell were you doing!” Potter shouts, teeth bared. Weasley pushes past him to Granger, near the edge of the cluttered sidewalk.

“Hermione, where are we?” The weasel exclaims as the hand retracts from my arm. 

A fresh surge of pain blooms under the skin the hand once held and I hiss at the sensation, “And what was that!”

The girl shoves her wand into a small purple sack and whips her head around. “You don't get to ask questions, _Malfoy_.”

I can tell she’s trying to look stern and intimidating but she can't mask her look of panic, not from a Malfoy. It takes a great effort to hold back my lashing tongue. I don't remember the address she states the second after she says it, but I know it's muggle and that Granger’s been here as a child, though it doesn't make a difference. The hand finds its way around my arm again as the three quickly move along threatening to leave me behind in the dust.

The rest of Weasley and Granger’s conversation gets lost in the upturned dust and smog as I struggle to keep up, my long robes himdering speed. The muggles walking past us spare only a shocked glance, their fat mouths contorting into barbaric snarls. Potter pulls me into stride alongside him, tossing me a venomous glance before turning his gaze forward again.

“Where the bloody fuck were you, _Malfoy_?” As Potter speaks I can see the spittle spraying from his mouth and dribbling down his bottom lip with disgust.

Images flash through my mind of the Weasley wedding, the burning tent set ablaze by all those death eaters. Their masks simply _glowed_ in the red-orange flames, reflecting a burning red so much more fitting for the event than the original blackening purple. They were like skeletal demons risen to life from a cemetery or the pits of hell; what I should have been. What I should be.

“What do you mean?” I scoff, nonchalant. “I was at the wedding, you bumbling idiot.”

“You know what I mean,” he says, legs pumping quickly. “Were you a part of the raid?”

“I already told you: I was at the wedding, and I wasn't part of any raid.”

He looks me harshly in the eye. “Then why don't I believe you?”

Granger ducks into a thin, dirty alley, and we follow.

“So, whose wand did you steal Malfoy?”

“Must you always think the worst of me?” I sneer. Inside, a small part of me hums with excitement.

“Yes.” Potter walks forward, slowly, pointing his wand towards me. “You know I couldn't see the sky from inside that tent, Ferret, but I'm betting it's bright green right about now.”

“Psh, if it _had_ been me who’d summoned those death eaters, I wouldn't have used something so obviously traceable.”

“Everything's traceable.”

“Is it?”

Potter presses his wand into the center of my chest; it stings. Granger and Weasley stand to the side with doubtful expressions on their face, probably wondering whether or not they should intervene. I can imagine they have to do so often. I want to laugh.

Potter repeats, emphasis on every word, “Whose wand did you steal?” 

“Wouldn't you like to know.”

“Are you trying saying he really did it? Mate, come on.” Weasley pulls at Potter’s shoulder, to which the maniac jabs back at him with his elbow, and Weasley backs off looking all the more alarmed.

“What'd you do to the owner, huh? Lock ‘em in a closet? A quick obliviate?”

I shake my head and let out a contemptuous huff. “You underestimate me so.”

“I say we kill him,” Harry says in a surprisingly cold, sinister voice. 

“You wouldn't bloody dare,” I hiss, straightening my back in a small act of defiance against the icy fear that shot down my spine at his words. I find myself regarding him in a new light. I've always known he wasn't the perfect Golden boy that everyone believed him to be, but I had never thought him one to even _consider_ a death sentence. But, I suppose even diamonds break under enough pressure.

“Harry!” Granger shouts. She almost jumps forward, a bit angry and a bit scared.

Weasley has his arm on Granger’s shoulder in a disgusting gesture. “Mate, I'm not so sure he even summoned those death eaters. Just look at him!”

“It'd be too risky to cast a spell either way!” Granger says firmly, pushing his wand aside. Potter’s eyes gleam, red light reflecting from the busy traffic.

“Who says I need my wand?”

“Harry!” The girl shoves the both of them aside, placing a hand on Potter’s heaving chest. The sound of her cries grate at my ear drums. “I'm not letting you do this to yourself! When we deal with _Malfoy_ it will be at a time when we're not being hunted ourselves!”

Granger then proceeds to push him into a corner, whispering quietly, but intently. Her voice sounds soothing, almost, and Potter’s growling dulls to a low hum. Weasley looks at me with a side eye and I turn away.

Twisting the purple sack across her bust, Granger points her wand at my head. My heart beats for a moment before I realize she's only removing the glamours from both Potter and me. My skin feels completely free of any kind of magic or charm. Realizing what this means, I hastily tug the sleeves of my robe down, concentrating for a brief moment, hoping that none of them notices.

As my luck would have it, Potter turns and stares suspiciously at me and grabs my arm, only to see that I have nothing hidden in my sleeves. He looks confused more than anything.

“I packed days ahead. I was hoping we wouldn't need it, but...” Granger mutters as she digs around in her pouch.

“What did you do to that thing?” Weasley stares dumbfounded, but Granger spares barely a second to explain the expansion charm. After a moment she pulls out stacks of old clothing: pants, sweatshirts, even tennis shoes.

“Malfoy can wear Harry's clothing. I'm sure we all look rather suspicious already in these dress clothes…”

Potter’s face takes on an expression of disgust, but he does not object. I turn my own separate way to change, hoping the Gryffindors do as well.

“What else is in there?” 

Granger’s jaw is a harsh line as she says, “Anything we’ll need.”

“Anything we’ll need for what?” I grumble, expecting nothing out of it. The three of them share worried looks. Gryffindors.

Once changed, the three begin planning their next course of action in rushed whispers, and, I’d nearly forgot, I'm merely a piece of luggage to be dragged along. I only play a real part in whatever this is when the Golden Boy wishes it.

“Shouldn't we… tie him up or something?” I hear Granger hiss.

“No, he can’t do anything,” Potter says. “He doesn't have a wand now and he's not getting one, so let's leave it at that.”

As the two shuffle out of the alley, I make to follow them, but Weasley grabs me by the wrist, making me stop before leaving. “You didn't do it, did you? Summon those death eaters?” he asks.

“What makes you so sure?”

“I know you, Ferret, and I'm afraid _I_ at least am a bit more level-headed than Harry of late. You're a coward. Nothing more, nothing less. You wouldn't have called them because you wouldn't have anything to gain from it.”

My jaw quivering, I sneer. “You. Don’t. Know me.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” he laughs, “And I'd recommend you didn't risk your life with my friends in order to save your bloody Slytherin pride.” Weasley releases me and walks slowly, just a few feet behind Potter and Granger and a few feet ahead of me. “You'll get yourself killed that way.”  
_____________________________________________________

_Harry’s POV_

Hermione leads us into a dingy little café. She's the first to sit down at a booth, Malfoy’s the last, and he has his nose perched so far in the air that I can hardly believe he can see where he's sitting. 

With my blood boiling and palms itching to be around the foul bastard’s throat, I could hardly allow myself to watch him for the rest of the walk. I’d have strangled him. But, unfortunately, I know he’s not responsible. He knows it, too. Maybe he’d’ve even said that he wasn't and I wouldn't have believed him.

But the thought of Ginny’s terrified face as Arthur wrenched us apart, strong beautiful Ginny. It's enough to make someone kill.

We sit in silence until a waitress, a tall girl with buzzed hair and a pinched nose, lazily asks what we’d like to drink. Her nostrils flare just begging the question.

Hermione orders a cappuccino while I decline a drink altogether. Malfoy and Ron order cappuccinos as well, both looking confused about the whole ordeal. Malfoy especially looks out of place in my oversized Dudley shirt and jeans sitting in a crappy café. 

The waitress then leaves, sticking an ear bud into her ear and leaving us alone in the restaurantseating area.

“What's the plan now?” Ron asks, fidgeting with the end of his shirt. I can see the absence of his family getting to him already, maybe I'm the only one.

“Well,” Hermione sighs and digs a hand into her hair, “There's only one place I can think of to go.”

“No,” I say firmly. My hand grips the table tightly and I can feel that anger again. Hermione leans forward.

“Harry it's the only safe place.”

“No,” I positively spit this time. “There is no way I'm bringing _him_ to the place where… where Sirius.…” I wipe stupid burning tears from my eyes and turn my head; already I feel the absence of his presence, of his guidance. Luckily Hermione knows what I'm talking about; her eyes fall onto Malfoy as he surveys the dirty cafe with raised nose and eyebrow.

A warm hand squeezes my thigh, “Harry, you know he's still harmless, no matter how much he barks. We can't let him be a priority. We need to stay safe.”

I know she's right. It's not even a deep down gut type of feeling, it's common sense that I could scrape from the brim of my mind. Simply, I just don't want her to be.

With a sigh, I let my head fall onto hers, and it's a comforting heat, until she pulls back and I feel Ron’s eyes on me, or more specifically Hermione and me.

Pulling a harsh smile he says, “Right. Staying safe.”

I want to say something reassuring to Ron at that moment, but the angry woman comes out of the kitchen just then, momentarily interrupting the conversation with a tray of drinks, which she slams on our table before walking away.

“Quite rude,” Hermione comments under her breath.

We're sitting, simply drinking and thinking to sooth our anxious nerves for what feels like forever, when two men walk into the café; both have tall trench coats, both dark-haired and very pale. They could even be brothers. Neither of them seem to so much as take notice of us, huddled up in our booth, until they sit at a table not too far away.

The man sitting farthest to the left casts a glance at me, his eyes so blue they appear white, like blank orbs with small black pupils. As his hand moves oh so slightly inside his too long sleeves, my hand goes to my forehead, then my eyes to Hermione’s and Ron’s faces, and, worst of all, Malfoy’s, all unglamoured.

“Fuck.” Is the last thing I say before a curse lands at our table, exploding the cups of hot coffee as well as the table itself. Hermione screams shrilly as the liquid scalds her face and Ron pulls her out of the way; Malfoy moves on his own accord.

I throw the first curse on our side, an Expelliarmus that the wizards ducks away from. I shoot about three more off the top of my head that have the men sprawling on the floor before running for the front counter.

Behind it we sit for not even a moment to catch our breaths – no, to get a feel of reality. Ron raises himself above the counter sporadically to throw curses at our enemies.

“Did they see – do they know who we are?”

“If they didn't I highly doubt they'd be throwing curses, ‘Mione!” I rise for half a second to throw a stunner that one of the men blocks.

“Potter, my wand!” Malfoy shouts from his position hunched in the corner of the counter below the cash register.

His eyes are wild and desperate, and my mind strays from our immediate danger for a moment. I know how it feels to be caught wandless in a dire situation.

“And how –” I rise to throw a curse at the same time as Hermione, “am I supposed to trust that you won’t curse us dead!?”

“You need the help – ”

Glass shatters somewhere nearby and I hear a scream that sounds nothing like Hermione’s.

“God bloody damn it!” I scream as I run to shield the muggle waitress. Before doing anything else I stun her, then block a blood-boiling curse aimed at my head.

“Bastard!” Ron cries. His wand gripped tight in his hand he throws a curse which hits one of the men right in the chest. The man falls to the ground in a fit of spastic movement, his wand flying to the other end of the shop. As light flashes in through the side window, Hermione’s wand falls to the ground with a clatter as the result of an Expelliarmus. The other wizard, foaming at the mouth, snaps and charges at them, his wand ablaze.

I throw several stunners, and though the sight of Hermione’s terrified face turns my arm to jelly, I manage to land an Expelliarmus and catch the wizard’s wand with my left hand. But the other wizard whom I presumed to be stunned grabs that arm, and attempts to wrestle it away as the wandless wizard continues to charge.

As both of my hands are occupied in an attempt to bare-handedly fight a grown man, the other man reaches Hermione and slaps her across the face, slamming her backlamming her back against the wall.

“Hermione!” I cry.

The man moves past her unconscious body and his hands wrap around Malfoy’s throat, catching him before he could run, clearly disregarding Ron – a Weasley – as the spell caster.

“Malfoy boy, eh? What’re you doing so far from home?” the man asks in a the man asks in a gruff voice, ignoring the fact that Malfoy clearly can’t answer with the tight fist around his throat.

Ron screams in rage. He grabs a nearby chair and smashes it over the wizard’s head. The man's grip loosens and he wobbles before crashing to the floor. Malfoy, his face an odd sort of red-purple, grips his red throat as it already begins to bruise.

Twisting my arms around, I successfully throw the other man off and kick him square in the stomach. As he stumbles backward, I hit him with a Stupefy.

“That was close. Too close,” I say, my chest heaving with each breath.

Ron kneels over Hermione’s body as she stirs.  
“You should have let me help,” Malfoy snarls.

“Help? You wouldn't help me if the world was ending.” I grab the waitress by the shirt collar and lean her up against the counter. 

“Well take a look around you, Potter.”

I've never been good with Obliviate, but I can use it from time to time when necessary. I cast one now, saying clearly, “You came in to work, as usual, and worked your shift. You never saw us, or the customers after us. No customers showed up late, so you decided to close up early. Then you went home.”

I now take a look at the rest of the ruined café, strewn with shattered glass and overturned tables. Coffee soaks through the stunned wizard near my feet. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on every memory around cleaning charms that I have. I cast all the ones I can remember, and when I open my eyes, the café looks to be in better condition that it was before our unfortunate arrival. 

“What do we do with Tweedledee and Tweedledum here?” I ask to no one in particular.

“Do you recognize them?” Ron asks. I shake my head. “Malfoy?” he says.

“No,” Malfoy says, nudging the other man’s head with his ratty shoe. “They must be ministry.”

“Because you know all of the other death eaters?” I raise an eyebrow.

He sneers. “Weasley asked.” 

“Do think it was the Ministry that alerted You-Know-Who’s followers at the wedding?” Ron poses, evidently thinking aloud. “I saw a few ministry guests, they could have been talking to Pops. He's too trusting sometimes…”

Malfoy blushes and backs away. I gaze elsewhere.

“Obliviate them. And work quickly.” Hermione says as she fixes to stand, holding a hand to her face. “If they found us it means they followed my Trace. They could send more.”

I nod and start with the one at my foot. As I go towards the other, Ron shakes his head and points his wand to cast. I suspect it's a particularly strong one.

Outside, we all hear a crash and jump. “Let's leave them,” I say quietly, “they won’t know who they are, and the muggles will suppose they’re burglars or something. Come on.” I grab Malfoy by the arm. 

“You know where to go, Harry,” Ron says, as he and Hermione each grasp a firm hold of my free arm.

With a sigh, I nod and grip my wand tightly, closing my eyes once more. Quietly, I whisper, “Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this next chapter, it's my first ever that's been beta-ed by @InkSilver here on AO3! *squeals with excitement* Please leave me a comment letting me know what you thought! I totally allow constructive criticism so please give some!! (Or suggestions, anything is cool as long as it's not mean)
> 
> My tumblr is @UnusuallyZealousBurgette


	8. Grimmauld Place

_Harry's POV_

Stuck in between several shadowed, simple-looking houses on a residential street is a looming structure, simultaneously unseen and yet striking if you ever have seen it; the ancestral home of the Black family on number twelve Grimmauld does not appear as soon I arrive. Not until I really think about it, bittersweet memories of Sirius and the Weasleys’ flooding my mind, does it reveal itself to me, horribly familiar. I stand just by the house’s dusty stoop, hidden under its Fidelius charm.

Ron and Hermione release my arm and take several steps back; I hear their breaths echoing into the night. Malfoy jerks his arm from my hand without a word, looking around himself with an unimpressed expression on his face. Shivers run down our spines from the brittle cold.

“A muggle house?” Malfoy whispers, special disdain placed on _muggles_ , as if the word itself was as dirty as the people. He sneers and rubs his hands up and down his arms, which are prickled with goose skin. “ _This_ is the Order’s hideout?”

“Not what you can see,” replies Ron.  


“And what’s that supposed to mean, W-”

Malfoy’s grey eyes then grow wider under the moonlight. Hermione and Ron step onto the stoop, raising their wands to the door. “Welcome to Grimmauld place, your ancestral home.” 

As Malfoy stumbles backwards in shock, I throw out an arm behind him without much forethought, steadying him on instinct. He tosses a glare my way and takes a step to the side, out of arm’s reach before returning his gaze to the Black family home. 

“Grimmauld Place,” he states, voice trembling. I can’t tell if it's out of anger or fear. “You mean to tell me that all this time Black used a Fidelius charm to hide Grimmauld place and use it for… I–”

The door creaks open and I shove him forward. “We haven't got all night. They're still looking for us.”

Malfoy steps up with shaky legs, and I follow him, more confidently, I hope. The moment our feet step safely onto the thin carpet, the door slams shut of its own accord, and I feel myself propelled into Malfoy’s back. The entrance room looks just the same as it always did; the flickering, mellow light of the gas lamps reveal the thick dust and cobwebs that have been known to paint the walls. Even the nasty umbrella stand is in the same place.

Ron picks thoughtlessly at the peeling wallpaper. “It's bloody worse than I remember,” Ron says, disagreeing with my unspoken thoughts, and steps closer to the old troll foot. “I wish Tonks were here.” He lightly kicks the troll foot with the tip of his shoe as if in tribute.

It’s not until Malfoy comes forward to inspect the odd object as well, that a dusty creature raises itself out of the carpet and rises above us. My first instinct is to grab the person closest to me, Hermione, and pull them behind me; her screams are cut off as the zombified figure of Albus Dumbledore charges at us, arms out. Walburga’s infamous painting awakens consequently, her shrieks echoing throughout the house to join Hermione’s.

I know, because that image later became ingrained in my brain, that that creature was barely recognizable as the professor I once knew and admired, it's face sagging horrendously to one side, pulling on a bloody eye, and the skin dripping off of its thin bones. The figure’s presence chokes me up, my tongue stopping short of any words, on the edge of asphyxiation.

Whirling winds and Walburga's gross shouts fill my ears as none of us are able to speak or yell, all except for Ron whose voice roars out, “We didn't kill him!” The words cut through the ghost like butter, and it disintegrates into the dust pile it came from. A distinctive aura of fear wavers in the air around us.  
Malfoy is trembling, his figure slumped up against the wall as tears flow down his sallow cheeks; he whimpers to himself, “I killed him, _I_ killed him.”

“Shut up!” Hermione exclaims, a bright spell spilling from her wand and onto Walburga’s portrait. Ron leaps back from the painting as the lethal spell hits and I see Malfoy jump as well.

“What was that?” Ron heaves.

“Mad-Eye I think,” I say. “He probably wanted to ward off Death Eaters and… well, he'd want to ward off–”

“Me.” Malfoy angrily drags his hand across his blotchy face and stands up straight. 

I've never seen Malfoy look so pale; his skin is like crepe paper. He's so delicate, like a cracked piece of China, or a thin, chipped cup as he pretends he didn't just break down to pieces. 

I don't want to feel any kind of pity for him, but I was there that night on the Astronomy tower. If anyone would know that Malfoy wasn't truly, honestly – well, let's just say I know the true story. 

“I was _going_ to say Snape, but yeah,” somehow it comes out harsher than I’d meant it. But I'm tired, a truly worn kind of tired that I haven't felt since that night, and that I'm afraid I'm getting used to. 

I push all previous thoughts from my mind and walk forward on the staircase. The eyes of the shrunken elf heads follow my movement and I think of Dobby. “The first floor should be fine. There's a bedroom and the parlor for us to use.” 

My shaken comrades and Malfoy follow after me, the stairs shuddering under our weight; Hermione keeps her eyes trained on her shoes as she climbs. I duck repeatedly under cobwebs that threaten to tangle into hair, breaching the first-floor parlor. My eyes find Sirius’ burnt out picture on the family tree immediately, but below it, a black scorch mark catches my eye. That hadn't been there before.

Malfoy sees it as well and seems drawn to his portrait, or what's left of it. Strokes of chipped white paint dust the top of the char over Malfoy’s face. ‘Draco Lucius Malfoy’ the wall announces in all its burnt glory.  


His fingers trace over the wall gently, solemnly.  
Hermione muses aloud to herself, an airy quality to her voice, “Now that’s fascinating. The wall must be charmed to display a familial disgrace once a family member has been declared a such? Or perhaps there’s a particular magical phrase that must be said to trigger the burn? Or –”  


I cut her off by nudging her lightly in the ribs with my elbow at the strange look on Malfoy’s ashen face as the words shiver through him. She looks up at me, then over to Malfoy, and back to me. She raises an eyebrow at my apparent care, but nods and drops the issue without another word.

Against the opposite wall is a fireplace and a brown sofa. There are two closed doors in the parlor that I recognize as leading to a bathroom and the old room that Ginny and Hermione shared so long ago. Or was it only a couple of years?

Hermione whispers a quick ‘Homenum revelio’ after gazing around the room with a cross look on her face.

“Should we just try and sleep then?” asks Ron, looking straight through the flames lapping in the fireplace. To me, though, he looks almost too complacent. They both do.

Hermione drops her pouch on the sofa with a resounding thud. “Sleep? Only you, Ronald Weasley, would ever think to sleep at a time like this.”

It takes time to notice her ragged state, from her disheveled hair, which hangs loosely from her ruined updo and falls over her face, to the bags under her eyes accentuated by smeared mascara; she's exhausted, but determined. 

“I don't know, Hermione, we've had a long night. I think we deserve it.”

“It doesn't matter what we deserve,” she says, eyes downcast. “For all we know we’re the only ones still _safe_ from Bill and Fleur’s wedding. We don't get to sleep until everyone is okay.”

I see Ron’s posture harshen, like he's holding in a breath.

“Yeah well, here’s the reality of it: not everyone is going to be okay and safe.” I laugh scornfully. “We might as well sleep at some point because safe is a long way off. Dumbledore might have tried to convince us that this is all well and good, but we’re on their own in this.” I notice my voice raising volume.

Hermione lets out a startled shriek before she gets the chance to answer, and I spin around, wand out. Malfoy plasters himself against the wall, forehead gleaming with sweat, as a white mist enters the parlor like a gust of wind, landing in the center of the room in the form of a weasel. The animal's mouth falls open and the words slip through like silk, “ _Family safe, do not reply, the Ministry is watching._ ”

Then, it's gone.

Hermione lets out a breath. "What can we do?" 

"Nothing," replies Ron. "Harry's right, we can't do anything. We can go to sleep, and try to stay alive." "Ron-" "Let's just go to sleep." 

** 

_It_ isn't how it usually is, my dream. I'm not a bystander like I was with the snake; this time I'm _him_ , and his anger and his fury are me. Slits for a nose and glowing, red eyes. My bare feet glide across the marble floors of Malfoy Manor, sticky blood clinging heavily to the ends of my robes. 

The wand in my hand feels of a familiar evil as I Crucio the pale, dark-haired man crumpled on the floor, the man from the cafe.

“You’ve failed me for the last time Gregor,” I say, my voice hauntingly even. “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

It's terrifying to feel such true rage course through my veins, rage so strong I truly do want him dead. But, even more terrifying is the person who drops to my feet next. 

Lucius Malfoy is a shadow of his former self, with a patchy beard spreading down his throat and his thin, greasy hair so filthy it's yellow. His adam’s apple bops up and down as he wheezes, “My Lord,” but my bare foot hits his throat before the word's even finished.

“Don't grovel, Lucius,” I hiss. “It’s unbecoming of you.” I crouch down and grab the bloodied man by his throat. “Besides, it won't make any difference. You and your offspring have already failed me, so you should find yourself lucky your lodgings are so… useful.”

His chin quivering, much like his son, Lucius whispers, “My Lord,” and blood bubbles out of his mouth. “I will find him, and after he leads us to the Potter boy I shall take great pleasure in punishing him.”

My voice gutteral and abrasive, “I should think so.” Then I Crucio him as well. Out of the corner of my eye, Narcissa’s cracking mask brings me only a glimmer of pleasure.

As I turn away, robes soaking up more blood behind me, I bellow, enunciating every word, “Find me Harry Potter, I want him dead!”

Then I find myself sprawled on the yellowed bedding of Grimmauld Place with no concept of time, dripping with sweat. My forehead pulses, a more physical pain this time, though my soul is crying out. _Never_ in my life have I ever wished to feel what Voldemort feels so acutely; I desire to scrape away the soft tissue from my bones to rid myself of the physical memory. This feeling is something I’d kill to rid myself of: such a thirst for death.

I spend what feels like an hour laying there, my heart beating erratically, and trying to catch my breath, trying to remember a time when I had someone to go to afterms an episode. The images that play behind my eyelids are horrid beyond explanation.

I finally heave myself up and lean against the doorframe. My internal conscious argues for telling Ron and Hermione, but I can't bring myself to even imagine relaying the tale after such a night. Hermione doesn't need anyone or anything else to agonize over, and I definitely don't want to be the one to add to her worries.

I open the door to find Hermione laid out on the couch whispering to Ron below her, both of them barely awake. Malfoy sits by the tapestry still, I can hear his stomach growling from here.

I grab a blanket from the room and toss it at Malfoy; his head snaps around and he has to lean forward to pick it up from the floor. For some reason I feel obligated to sit by him.

“You're not getting your wand back,” I say first, but he doesn't even scowl.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers. “The darkness in this house?”

Lowering myself onto crossed legs in front of him, I respond, “Suppose I'm used to it.”

“Suppose you are,” he says blankly. His eyes are emotionless in a way that speaks measures.

“I didn't summon those death eaters,” Malfoy says quietly, and I tell him that I know. 

“But I did kill him.”

“You don't have it in you, Malfoy,” I say knowingly with a sigh. “You may think you do, but you don't.”

Malfoy looks thoughtful and wraps the blanket around him. For a moment I allow myself to ignore him and who he is and everything he's done.

“Look, Malfoy, what I'm about to say changes nothing, but you still need to hear it. You need to understand that you can't go back to what you were. There's a price on your head that can only be paid with you alive, and I've seen you to be quite susceptible to the Imperius. Just… remember that before you try to run off, because you _will_ try to run off one time or another. Don't.” I scowl.

Without another word, I stand up and turn, never looking back as I shut the bedroom door behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and thanks again to my wonderful beta @InkSiver! If you did like this chapter please let me know with a kudos and comment, please tell me what you think! I'm always open to constructive criticism (just try to be kind).
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @UnusuallyZealousBurgette.


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